The leather of my bracers creaked as I flexed my fingers, testing the fit. New. Still stiff. I'd oiled them twice already, but the material hadn't learned my wrists yet. The staff leaned against the wall beside me—white loa-loa wood, still carrying that faint warmth I hadn't quite gotten used to.

The bowstring needed checking. I ran my fingers along it, feeling for frays, for weak spots. Clean. I'd strung it three times last night after dinner, unable to sleep. Father said that was normal. The night before a first hunt, sleep came in pieces or not at all.

"You're going to wear a groove in that string."

Eliana stood in the doorway of the hut, her braid fresh, her leathers already settled on her shoulders like she'd been born in them. Twin swords at her hips. Bow across her back. She looked like she belonged in a painting—the kind hung in the chief's hall to remind the young what they were supposed to become.

"Just checking."

"You checked twice last night."

"And I'll check twice tonight, after."

She grinned. That sharp, quick grin she got when she was about to prove me wrong about something. "Fair. Your staff—you wrapped the grip?"

I glanced at the staff. The leather wrapping near the center, where I'd spent the evening binding it tight. My palms knew the feel of it already, the slight give where the layers overlapped. "Done."

"Good." She stepped inside, crossing to where her own gear sat organized on the floor—a precision that made my chest ache, seeing it. Bow beside quiver. Swords crossed. A small pouch of dried meat and flatbread, rolled and tied. "Mama's making sure the packs sit right. She keeps adjusting mine."

"She's nervous."

"She's always nervous." Eliana's voice softened on the words. "But she hides it behind advice."

I picked up the staff, testing the weight. Still good. Still right. "The advice is good, though."

"It's always good. That's what makes it annoying."

I almost smiled. Almost.

Mother appeared in the doorway behind Eliana, a pack in her hands—leather-wrapped, straps adjusted. Her gray-streaked hair was pulled back in the same practical braid Eliana wore. Same blue eyes, too. The kind that saw through walls and excuses.

"Almerus." She held out the pack. "I added extra salt. For the meat, if you're successful."

If. Not when. Mother never assumed. She left room for the mountain to decide, but I knew inside that we would do great. She did teach us to hunt after all.

"Thank you." I took it, settling it onto my shoulders. The weight settled familiar against my spine.

She reached up, adjusting the strap where it crossed my chest. A small tug. A tighter fit. Then she stepped back, hands falling to her sides, and looked at both of us.

The room went still.

"You both are my moon and sun," she said. Her voice held steady, but I saw the way her fingers pressed into her palms. "And I know you are both capable of great things." A pause. Her eyes moved between us. "Stay safe." Her voice dropped. "And remember—stay downwind."

Eliana let out a breath. Half frustration, half something warmer. "Mama, I know."

"I know you know. But I needed to say it one more time." Mother's mouth curved, soft and tired. "Humor me."

Eliana looked away, but I caught the way her hand brushed our mother's arm—fast, almost hidden. A touch that said what words wouldn't.

"Don't forget me, now."

Father's voice boomed from the doorway. He filled it—broad shoulders, graying beard, hands that could crush stone and had, on more than one occasion. He crossed the floor in three strides and wrapped his arms around both of us at once, pulling us into his chest. The leather of his tunic pressed against my cheek. His arms held us tight.

"My two," he said, quieter now. His voice rumbled through his ribs. "My whole heart."

I didn't pull away. Neither did Eliana. For a long moment, we just stood there, the four of us, breathing together in the small hut. The fire crackled in its pit. Somewhere outside, a bird called.

Father squeezed once more, then released us. He stepped back, clearing his throat, and clapped a hand on my shoulder. Hard enough to make me shift weight.

"Bring back something good," he said. "I'm tired of squirrel."

Eliana snorted. "I'll bring back an elk. Almerus will bring back a rabbit."

"I'll bring back whatever presents itself," I said.

"That's how you catch rabbits." She was already heading for the door, a spring in her step. "Come on, brother. Sun's not going to wait."

I glanced back at Mother. She stood beside Father, her hand on his arm, watching us with that look I'd seen my whole life—pride and fear and love all tangled together, impossible to separate.

"We'll be back before dark," I said.

She nodded. "I'll have stew waiting."

I followed Eliana out.

The village passed around us as we walked. Smoke from morning fires. The clang of Agna's hammer from the forge. Children chasing each other between huts, their laughter sharp in the cold air. A few elders nodded as we passed—they knew where we were going. What tonight meant.

Eliana walked ahead, her braid swaying, her hand resting easy on her sword hilt. She looked back at me once, grinning.

"Nervous?"

"No."

"Liar."

"Maybe a little."

Her grin widened. "Good. Nervous keeps you alive." She turned forward again. "I'm going to get the bigger catch."

"You always do."

"Because I'm better."

"Because you're reckless."

"Reckless and better." She laughed. The sound was bright, cutting through the morning. "You focus on not falling into a ravine. I'll focus on winning."

I shook my head, but there was no weight in it. This was us. This had always been us.

Turning to follow Eliana, a hand caught my arm—soft, familiar. Lyla. She stood close, her dark hair loose around her shoulders, her eyes brighter than I'd seen them in days.

"Wait." Her voice was quiet. Before I could ask, she stepped in and wrapped her arms around me. The hug caught me off guard—warm, fierce, her face pressed against my chest for just a breath. Then she pulled back, and before I could think, she rose on her toes and pressed her lips to my cheek.

The kiss landed like a spark. Quick. Soft. Gone. But I felt it burn long after she stepped away, a heat that spread from my cheek down into my chest. I stared at her, words gone. She'd never done that before. Neither of us had ever told eachother how we felt, as much as we both knew it.

"Be safe, Almerus." Her voice cracked just enough to prove she meant it. "Come back to me in one piece."

Something lodged in my throat. I nodded, because speaking felt impossible. She smiled—small, wet—and gave my arm one last squeeze before stepping back, letting me go. I managed a breath. Then I turned and followed Eliana, the warmth of Lyla's kiss still pressed into my skin like a promise I didn't deserve.

The path out of the village curved along the edge of the valley, past the last huts, past the grazing fields, and into the open. The mountain rose ahead—Whitespear, its slope still dark with shadow as the sun climbed. Forests climbed its lower flanks, thick and patient. Above them, bare rock. Above that, snow.

We walked in silence for a while, following the trail that led around the back side of the valley. The grass thinned. The ground turned harder, rockier. The air changed—cooler, sharper, carrying the smell of pine and damp earth.

Eliana's hand dropped from her sword hilt. Her posture shifted. The playful confidence didn't vanish, but it quieted, settling into something more focused. More alert.

We entered the forest.

The light changed immediately. Canopy overhead, thick and layered. Patches of sun, scattered like coins on the forest floor. The sounds of the village faded—replaced by birds, by the rustle of leaves, by the distant creak of branches settling under their own weight.

I stepped carefully, placing each foot where it would make the least sound. The staff in my hand, balanced, ready. My bow stayed strung across my back, within reach.

Eliana moved ahead of me, low, her body angled toward the slope. She scanned the ground as she walked—loose soil, disturbed leaves, the faint indent of something that had passed before us.

I watched her hands. The way she touched nothing, but read everything.

The forest deepened. The trail narrowed, becoming a game path—hoof prints pressed into the damp earth, some fresh, some older. Deer. Heading upslope, toward the ridgeline.

I pointed. She nodded. We adjusted our course, following the tracks.

For a while, there was only the movement. The placement of feet. The breath. The occasional pause to listen. To let the forest tell us what we needed to know.

Then—

Click.

The sound carried through the trees. Sharp. Metallic. A stone shifting against something harder. Not a branch. Not a bird.

I froze.

Eliana's head turned. Her eyes met mine.

Raising my hand, pointing up the mountain, toward where the sound had come from.

She tilted her head, listening. Her fingers found her bow, not drawing, just there, ready.

Another click. Faint. Higher up. Maybe a deer, stepping on loose stones. Maybe a small elk.

Maybe something else.

Eliana looked at me again. Her grin was gone. In its place, something sharper. Hungrier.

She gestured forward.

We moved up the slope, our steps careful, our breath shallow. The forest thinned ahead, opening into a small clearing where the ground dipped—a sheltered hollow, tucked between two outcroppings of granite. And there, bedded down in the moss, was an elk.

It was a bull, probably four or five years old, its antlers branching wide. It lay resting, chewing lazily, its flanks dark with sweat from the morning climb. Good size. Big enough to feed more than just the two of us. Big enough to make a sled necessary just to haul it home.

I looked at Eliana. She was already looking at me, her eyes bright, her grin small and sharp. Perfect, her expression said. Honorable.

I nodded. She unstrung her bow in a single practiced motion, then settled into a crouch behind a fallen log. I did the same, sliding my staff off my back and laying it in the leaves beside me. My bow came around, and I nocked an arrow, keeping the motion slow, silent.

The elk hadn't noticed us. The wind was in our favor—coming down the mountain, carrying our scent away from it. Mother's advice, lodged in my skull like a splinter. Stay downwind. I let the bow breathe in my hands, pulled the string back, and held it.

I waited for the elk to lift its head. To present the angle I wanted. Its chest rose and fell with each slow breath. I settled my aim behind the shoulder—the heart. A clean kill. One shot, like Father said.

My fingers started to tremble. Not from cold. I forced them still.

Eliana was already drawn, her arrow fixed, her body low. She waited with the patience of stone. I took one more breath, and as the elk turned its head to scratch at a fly, I loosed.

The arrow left the string clean—I felt the release, saw the shaft cut through the dappled light—and then it clipped a low-hanging branch, deflected, and buried itself in the dirt just before the elk.

The elk scrambled to its feet, ears pinned, body coiling to bolt—

Eliana's bow sang.

Her arrow punched into the elk's heart. A clean hit. The elk stumbled, coughed once, and folded. Its legs gave out, and it hit the ground with a heavy thud that shook the moss. Then silence.

I stared at the carcass, then at Eliana. She lowered her bow, her breath shallow, her cheeks flushed. Her grin broke wide and real.

"Good shot," I said. Quiet. Relief flooding through me.

"Better than yours." She winked, but there was no sting. Just pride. Her pride, and mine for her. I shook my head, and we moved forward together, slipping our bows over our shoulders.

The elk lay still, warm, its eye already glassy. I knelt beside it and pulled my knife from its sheath—the one Father had given me, the antler handle worn smooth. I found the jugular and made the cut. Blood pooled into the moss, dark and thick. It would be easier to carry if we drained it first.

"Grab the hind leg," I said. "We'll roll it onto its side."

Eliana took hold, and together we shifted the carcass. The blood flowed faster. I worked quickly, making the cut clean, letting the cavity drain. Steam rose from the open hide.

I was about to start field dressing when I heard it.

A rustle, not the wind, Something heavy, shifting in the brush behind us.

I froze, my hand still on the knife. Eliana was still crouched beside me, her back to the bushes. She hadn't noticed. The sound came again—closer, deliberate. My mind raced. What would stay after the noise of a kill?

The warning clicked into place a second too late.

"Eliana—"

She turned, confused—and the mountain cat exploded from the undergrowth. A blur of tawny fur and muscle, jaws wide, claws extended. It hit her before she could rise, slamming her onto her back in the mud. I heard her breath leave her in a sharp gust.

She got an arm up, forearm jammed against the cat's throat, holding its snapping jaws inches from her face. Its hind claws raked her leather armor, scrabbling for purchase. Blood welled on her temple where it had caught her on the way down.

Not stopping to think, I grabbed my staff from where I'd left it, spun it in my hands, and swung. The heavy loa-loa wood connected with the cat's ribs—a solid, bone-deep thwack. The animal yowled and tumbled sideways, rolling off Eliana.

She scrambled back, gasping, her hand going to her head. I planted myself between her and the cat, the staff held across my body, my heart hammering so hard I could feel it in my teeth.

The cat crouched, muscles coiled, tail lashing. It was big—half again the size of a hunting hound, its shoulders bunched, its lips pulled back from yellowed fangs. It eyed me, gauging.

My hands wanted to shake. My legs wanted to run. But I couldn’t with Elaina downed like she was. I almost started to panic when Agna's voice surfaced through my head—low, steady, the way she'd said it in one of the days of training. When you fight, you don't think. You breathe. Your weapon is part of your body. Trust it.

I let out a slow breath. The trembling in my hands eased. My grip settled into something solid.

The cat lunged.

Pivoting, I brought the staff up, and caught it across the shoulder—redirecting its momentum, sending it sprawling into the leaves. It recovered fast, turning to face me again. I didn't give it time. I stepped forward, staff low, and swung at its forelegs. The wood connected with a crack that sent the cat stumbling, favoring one paw. It snarled and backed away, ears flat against its skull.

I held the staff in front of me, tip steady. It circled once, then twice. Sniffed the air. Looked at Eliana, still on the ground. Then at me, the staff, the blood and the carcass. It made a low growl.

I kept the staff between us, matching its steps, pivot for pivot. My whole world narrowed to the space between its yellow eyes. It shifted left, and I shifted with it. Behind me, Eliana made a sound—not a word, a wet gasp. She was trying to stand, or trying to speak. "Stay down," I said, my voice flat, strange to my own ears. "Don't move."

The cat's ears flattened. Its haunches coiled. It wasn't going to circle forever. It had decided. It bunched its hind legs and lunged—not straight at me, but wide, trying to draw my staff out of line so it could get past me to Eliana. I didn't follow the feint. I held center, planted between her and the threat. The cat checked its rush, snarled, and began to pad in the other direction.

Then it shifted again. A quick, deliberate movement to my flank. I turned to face it, and that's when it committed. It sprang, clearing the space between us in a single, explosive bound. Claws extended. Jaws wide. A blur of fur and muscle coming straight for my chest.

I didn't think. I didn't have time. The cat was already in the air, a blur of muscle and fury, its claws spread wide, its shadow falling over me. I dropped. Not back—forward. I threw myself into a slide, my boots scraping loose shale, my staff clattering away to my left. The world narrowed to the sensation of cold ground against my back and the weight of the cat's leap passing just above my face.

I felt the air part where its belly cleared me. Saw the ripple of its fur, inches from my nose. The fletching scraped my palm as I pulled it clear. One of its back legs caught my shoulder as it passed, a glancing blow that spun me slightly, but I was already sliding deeper. Its claws raked empty space where my chest had been.

I hit the dirt on my back, momentum carrying me a few more feet. The cat's leap carried it past me, as its shadow passed over me—I drove the broadhead upward with every ounce of strength in my arm. The tip caught it low in the chest, just beneath the ribs. I felt the steel scrape bone, but not as deeply as I wanted.

The cat's enormous weight came down, hammering the shaft deeper into its body. It hit the ground with a strangled cry, rolling, legs raking at the air. The arrow punched through its ribs. It scrambled, blood sheeting onto the leaves, and then its forelegs buckled. A shudder ran through its frame. A long, wet breath. Then stillness.

I lay on my back in the mud, staring up at the canopy. The needles above blurred and swam. I gasped, sucking in air I hadn't realized I'd been holding. My whole body was trembling—fine tremors running through my arms, my legs, my jaw. I couldn't make them stop.

I rolled onto my knees. The cat lay ten feet away, a dark, unmoving heap. My arrow was buried deep in its chest, the fletching slick with blood. A mountain cat. I stared at my hands. They were covered in mud, blood, and a thin scratch where the fletching had cut me. I killed it. I stared at the carcass, waiting for someone to tell me it was luck or that it didn't count. No one would. The forest was silent except for my ragged breathing. One of the greatest hunts a person could make, and I'd done it by accident, on my back, with a desperate arm and an arrow meant for a deer.

I pushed myself up and stumbled to Eliana. She was sitting up now, one hand pressed to her temple, the other braced on the ground. Her eyes were wide, fixed on the dead cat. A thin line of blood traced down her cheek from the wound on her forehead. "Almerus," she said. Just my name. Like she was testing to see if I was real.

I knelt beside her, my hand on her shoulder. Her skin was cold. "I'm here," I said. "I'm here. We need to get you somewhere safe." I glanced back at the kills—the deer and the cat—both downed. I couldn't carry both and her at once. "I'll build sleds for the catches later. There's a cave I remember, further up the mountain. We can rest there, make sure you're okay."

She nodded, slowly. I helped her to her feet, keeping an arm around her waist. She leaned into me, her steps unsteady. We left the kills where they lay, marking the spot in my mind. As we climbed through the trees, I began to notice something wrong. No birds. No rustle of small creatures. The forest had gone silent, as if holding its breath. The air felt thick, pressed against my ears.

I guided us along a game trail I vaguely recalled from a past hunt. After what felt like forever, I spotted the cleft—a dark opening in the rock face, half-hidden by mossy boulders. It was narrow, but deep enough. I helped Eliana through the entrance and lowered her to the ground inside. She winced, touching her temple again.

I pulled the sleeping furs from my pack and spread them for her. She was already shivering. I gathered dry leaves and twigs from the cave floor and struck a spark from my flint. A small fire caught, casting wavering light on the rough stone walls. The warmth was immediate.

I set the kettle on a rock near the flames and turned to my bag. We had some herbs that would help the wound close, but I needed more wood—both for the fire and to build those sleds. Once the fire was steady, I told Eliana to rest, that I'd be back soon. She nodded, eyes already heavy.

I stepped out of the cave into the strange stillness. The trees stood motionless. I walked a few paces down the slope pausing and taking a long while to listen. Nothing. Things were way too quiet. Never were things this quiet.

Working to continue and gathering dry branches, when I heard Eliana's voice from behind me. "Are you almost done down—"

Her words cut off. The ground shook. A deep rumble, as a wall of wind slammed into me, lifting me off my feet. I landed hard on my side, rocks and sticks jabbing into my arm. Pain flared up my side. The wind gust continued in pulsing waves, shoving me flat each time I tried to rise.

I scrambled to my knees, blood oozing from a scrape on my arm. But worse—I looked toward the cave. Eliana lay crumpled on the ground, unmoving. I fought the wind, crawling up the slope to her. "Eliana!" I turned her over gently. Blood streaked her cheek from a gash at her temple. She was unconscious.

I scooped her up, the pressure of the pulsing air nearly throwing me again, and staggered into the cave. I laid her on the furs and cleaned the cut with water from my flask. From my bag I took a handful of heal-herb and a smooth stone, grinding them into a paste with a powder that would thicken it. I pressed the mixture over her wound, watching it set. She'd be all right, the wounds didnt appear to be too deep. Looking at my arm, I could see the scrape was minor. Something I would treat in a moment, but exhaustion was suddenly taking me over.

Spreading my own sleeping furs nearby. The wind had stopped, but a heaviness settled into my bones, deeper than the exhaustion. I knelt to bank the fire, but my limbs wouldn't obey. A new weight pulled at my eyelids. My energy drained as I collapsed onto my bedding, vision blurring. Everything went hazy. Then, as I looked at my arms, mist curled around me—thick, purple, and strange. I tried to lift my hand. The question formed in my mind. What is this?

Then darkness closed in.